by Julia Quinn
He coughed slightly, trying to push the lump in his throat out of the way. Truly, he had no idea why this suddenly had become such a struggle. He’d woken up this morning resolved to do what needed to be done.
Ask the heiress to marry him and thus save his lands and title from ruin.
Then she’d arrived.
Cordelia Padley. With her ridiculous request to lend her assistance as any RSE member in good standing would do.
Save that he’d made that promise when he’d been all of eight. And there was no Royal Society of Explorers—with all its lofty edicts of honor. Of course he’d had to refuse her.
He had obligations he must satisfy. To his tenants. For the future of his family name.
Even Drew, madcap and reckless as he was, had reluctantly agreed it was the only course.
“Aunt Charity,” Miss Holt said, directing her attention to the crone seated like a gargoyle on the other side of the room. “Would you please ask Ruskin to bring in the tea tray?”
Her aunt, who acted as her chaperone, hesitated for a moment, mouth pursed with consternation at the very idea of abandoning her charge. Another pointed glance from her niece sent the woman on her errand, but not before the old crone sent one more chastising grimace at Kipp.
And then they were alone. He and Miss Holt. Which should be the impetus to making a lofty declaration.
Yet, instead of getting on with it, he found himself looking around the splendid room, a showplace of wealth and fashion, and instead of being awed by all the elegant touches of gilt, and the expensive furnishings, he suffered an uncomfortable flash of foreboding, that all too soon he’d see his beloved old relic, Mallow Hills, being dressed up in the same manner, like a Covent Garden whore trying to be a lady.
No, no, he couldn’t think like that. He had to recall all the other improvements that could be made. Fields drained. Cottages repaired. Barns full of prized horses. Fat sheep dotting the meadows.
“My lord, is there something amiss?” Miss Holt asked as she carefully settled her hands down atop the frills on her gown . . . the sort a lady wore to go for a carriage ride—which he assumed she would insist upon after he got done with the business at hand, if only so she could be paraded through the park and thus spread the news of their betrothal that much more quickly.
Beautiful and shrewd. And very much her father’s daughter.
“No, no,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing’s amiss.”
Yet everything was, as if he was being prodded down a ship’s plank by the point of a sword.
He did his best to remember this was nothing more than a business matter to be bartered and sealed. For her, a countess’s coronet, and for him, the security of a fortune.
A fair and equitable exchange.
But one thought raced through his head.
I will not marry for anything less than to follow my heart.
Oh, damn Cordelia for reminding him of yet another impossible thing.
Love.
Only she would disavow security and position for such mercurial and mysterious flutters.
He nearly groaned. Love, of all things!
When he looked at Miss Holt, he knew there would never be the flicker of such an unprofitable emotion in her eyes. No, when she looked at him, Pamela saw nothing more than the certainty of her future . . . as Lady Thornton, and with that her ascendance in society as the premier London hostess.
A future so set in stone, so immobile, so entrenched that before he could even stop himself, a panicked rush of words came tumbling out.
“I fear I’ve some bad news.”
The words startled even him. Good God, what had he just said? He tried to force out a retraction, but those words refused to budge. For he’d gone and let the cat out of the bag, and with that done, there was no stuffing it back in.
And to his shock, he didn’t want to. Kipp straightened, his resolve bringing with it a sense of something long lost now suddenly found.
Meanwhile, Pamela smiled as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I hardly think that possible,” she replied, so certain in her value, her position. Her glance rose to meet his, a silent prod. We both know why you are here. Get on with it.
Yes, that was what he needed to do. Get on with it.
But instead, Kipp had the creeping sense of standing in wet concrete—if he didn’t move quickly, he’d be trapped.
For the rest of his life.
Just as his inheritance had extinguished the life of adventure he’d once boasted about to Cordelia. He was going to be a famous cartographer. Tramp hills and mountains and islands that had never been surveyed. Tame them all.
The entire globe his to discover.
All of which had been snuffed out the moment he’d been elevated from spare to heir.
But seeing Cordelia again had rekindled that spark for adventure, the one he’d thought long lost. Oh, this had all the marks of that perfidious mistress, Fate. How else could he explain why Cordie had arrived back in his life this very day? Offering him one last adventure before this mire he stood in hardened.
But you must come with me. Upon pain of death, she’d teased him, a sly smile on her lips, and more telling, lighting her blue eyes.
He looked over at Pamela, who was also smiling, a beguiling turn of her lips that left the poets among her swains racing to put pen to paper.
Yet now, of all times, he noticed that her smile never reached her eyes.
Not like Cordie’s did.
“I must leave London,” he said, no longer drowning in panic, having found his footing. “First thing tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I don’t see how—” Annoyance pinched at her nose.
“’Tis a matter of honor, Miss Holt. I must go.”
“You must?” Now that wrinkle tugged at her brow and her smile slowly straightened into a hard line. Because she had been raised with her every need being met, with her every expectation being fulfilled, he might as well have come in speaking Sanskrit, for it was obvious she couldn’t imagine anything that might take precedence over his proposal of marriage.
To her.
But now that he’d launched this ship, he found himself being pulled by both the tide and a favorable wind. “Yes. I made a promise. To a friend. Long ago. The news—rather their request—came this morning.”
In the form of the most madcap, impossible female one could ever have met. But he wisely chose to leave that part out.
“I can hardly fail them at such a desperate time,” Kipp added. “It is, after all, a matter of honor.”
Faced with this most aristocratic of demands, Pamela could hardly protest and not look exactly like what she was—the jumped-up daughter of a rag merchant. Composing herself and straightening as well, she nodded her acquiescence. “I would expect nothing less of you, my lord.” Then she got right back to the business at hand. “When will you return?”
Here was the rub. “A sennight at the very least, a fortnight at the most.”
“A fortnight! But—” She stopped herself right there, her hand coming to her mouth to stopper back the demanding words that threatened to follow. That, and most likely because she’d heard—much as he had—that shrill note of a fishwife rising in her protest.
“I’m sorry, but as I said, this is a matter of honor. I do appreciate your understanding and patience, Miss Holt.” He bowed, then turned and left.
Well, more like fled.
If he was being honest.
The next morning Cordelia stood on the curb, overseeing the menagerie of trunks and valises and boxes being packed into and atop the carriage. While that might be her butler’s duty, she had done it so many times over the years for her father that she still preferred to do the task herself.
If only life could be ordered so easily.
Her gaze lifted to the house beside hers, her hand going instinctively to the sixpence in her pocket.
“Looking for him and wishing he’d arrive won’t make it happen,” Kate rem
arked, having guessed, in her annoyingly canny way, Cordelia’s line of thought.
“I’m not wishing any such thing,” she lied.
“You’ve been woolgathering since yesterday.”
“Hardly,” she shot back. It wasn’t truly woolgathering when one couldn’t put something out of her mind no matter how hard she tried to dismiss it. Say like the rugged turn of Kipp’s jaw. Or the hard line of his lips.
Not to mention Rule 18.
And with her usual startling clarity, Kate asked, “Whatever did that man say to you to put you in such a stew?”
“I am not in a stew,” she replied tartly. “And I told you what he said. He had other obligations and couldn’t assist me.”
Which was for the best. Especially in light of her sudden preoccupation with how Kipp had turned out. So taciturn. So chiseled. So very handsome. So very kissable . . .
Oh bother, there she went again.
Meanwhile, Kate, never one to keep her opinions to herself, continued on. “I told you not to wear that dreadful gown.”
“As if any other gown would have changed his obligations,” Cordelia replied.
“You’d be amazed at the obligations a man is willing to forget when a lady wears the right sort of gown.”
Cordelia chose to ignore her worldly companion, for now it would only be wishful thinking.
And wishes wouldn’t bring back the Kipp she remembered. That Kipp was long lost.
The Kipp she’d whiled away hours with as a child, lying side by side on the floor of the library, paging through atlases and planning their own expeditions. Kipp charting the course and Cordelia endlessly making lists of what they would need.
That Kipp who hadn’t cared what she wore, only that she loved adventures as much as he did.
“How is it you, of all people, didn’t know he’d inherited?” Kate was still askance that Cordelia—mindful of every detail—had missed this very significant one.
“After my mother died, we never returned to this house. I went to school for all those years and then I followed Papa to India. I had no idea he was . . . that he wasn’t . . .”
Her Kipp.
After all, she’d spent years imagining him bravely facing a hurricane or charting faraway waters, standing on the deck of his ship looking for all accounts like a member in good standing of the RSE.
And just the notion that he’d gained his heart’s desire, when she had not, had been enough to warm her a bit.
Her lips pressed together as she considered the man he’d become—a reserved and guarded nobleman with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Hardly the carefree, intrepid explorer she’d fancied.
What surprised her more was the realization that had woken her up in the middle of the night: Perhaps Kipp needed rescuing as much as she did.
But how, she hadn’t the least notion. Or the time to spare.
She had her own reckoning to face.
Just then the coachman tied off the last of the ropes at the back of the carriage. “There, miss, I got them just the way you like them. All ready to go.”
So there it was, time for her to face the consequences of her impetuously penned betrothal.
If only . . . she wished.
Then, like a lifeline that comes out of nowhere, someone asked, “Is there room for me?”
Cordelia paused for only a second, for that voice, those words, were like the string on a top, spinning her around.
“Kipp?” She shook her head. “I mean, my lord—” For it might be Kipp’s voice, but before her stood the perfect English gentleman through and through—a majestic and forbidding creature in a grand traveling coat with its bright silver buttons glinting in the sunlight.
All imposing and proper. And so very handsome. Cordelia knew she was gaping, but how could she not? For here he was, like a knight errant, all ready to rescue her.
He was here to rescue her, wasn’t he?
“And me as well,” added another, prodding her out of her trance.
It wasn’t until then that she realized it wasn’t just Kipp, but his rapscallion brother as well. Drew. The pair of them stood side by side, leading their horses and carrying well-worn valises in hand.
She tried to say something, but she was still a bit mesmerized by the sight of Kipp.
“Yes, well, I was able to rearrange my schedule,” he told her. His words came out a bit stiffly, but if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of the old sparkle to his eyes. “It would hardly do to have a fellow member of the RSE traveling alone,” he replied, a slight tip of his lips that suggested an attempt at smiling. “That is, if you haven’t found another member of the Royal Society . . .” He glanced around as if he half expected some other fellow in traveling togs to be standing about.
She shook her head. “No, I suppose you will have to do,” she managed, immediately feeling foolish for not having said something more enticing.
But then again, it was probably better than the confession that nearly tripped from her lips.
Why would I want anyone else?
Kate, on the other hand, having measured up the situation in the blink of an eye, stepped forward. “Lord Thornton, I believe?” She held out her hand, which the earl took and bent over. “I’m Mrs. Harrington, Miss Padley’s companion.” But Kate’s gaze had already risen to the man behind the earl, a sly smile turning her lips. “And you must be Captain Talcott.” She looked Drew up and down. “I would have expected someone taller, given the tales of your exploits.” And without waiting for his reply, she strode over to the carriage and let the footman help her in, leaving Drew gaping after her.
Oh yes, Kate knew exactly how to drop a hook into the water.
Cordelia hurried to follow, partly for fear Kipp might change his mind, though from the look on Drew’s face, she realized the captain would follow them to the ends of the earth.
Well, follow Kate.
“Yes, well, we’ll add our bags to the collection and be off,” Kipp said, nudging his befuddled brother to hurry along.
Inside the carriage, Kate was tugging at her gloves. “You didn’t tell me Lord Thornton was so handsome. If I were you, I’d do my best to turn this false engagement into a real one.” Her brows waggled slightly.
Good heavens, her companion was getting as bad as her aunts.
“I don’t want to get married. And Kipp, I mean, the earl, is only helping me because of a promise we made to each other years ago.”
Her companion made a slight snort and looked out the window, admiring the view. Which happened to be of Captain Talcott mounting his horse. “Is that the only reason?”
Cordelia ignored her.
Not that Kate was done. “Still, he’s here. Which says something. Especially since you were so certain—”
“He said no,” Cordelia told her. “There was no ambiguity.”
“And yet, here he is. And with his brother as well.” Kate smiled again and settled deeply into her seat as the carriage began to move forward. “How very curious. I wonder what changed his mind?”
Chapter 4
Later that day, Cordelia stepped out of the inn and looked around, sketching case in hand. They’d stopped here in this quaint village for the night, and Cordelia—restless from being cooped up in the carriage all day—hoped a bit of a walk and the chance to draw would settle the tangled thoughts rattling about inside her head.
Much to her chagrin, Kipp had spent the day riding in silence, while Drew had taken every opportunity to move his mount alongside the ladies, pointing out the sights and regaling them with tales of his daring.
Yes, yes, Cordelia had wanted to explode about halfway through the day, you are quite the adventurous hero, Captain Talcott, but whatever is your brother doing here? What changed his mind?
But did she really want to know? It wasn’t like she wanted a real betrothed. She was only borrowing the earl. And then she would quite happily return him to London. Which was all well and good.
Still, it was rather an
noying the way he seemed to invade her every thought and yet wouldn’t even look at her.
Which was for the best, she told herself, that is, until she turned slightly and realized the man himself was standing right at her side.
She jumped a little and made a bit of a squeak.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He’d changed into a plain dark jacket and buff breeches, which made him less imposing, but he still managed to sound utterly stuffy.
“Out to sketch,” she said, holding up her case. “And in the future, please do not come sneaking up beside me. It is ever so unsettling.”
Because now her heart was pattering about most unevenly.
“I do not sneak. And how is it you are going without Mrs. Harrington?”
Yes, decidedly stuffy. This was exactly why she didn’t want a betrothed, or any man, directing her life.
“She doesn’t draw,” she replied, ignoring the note of dismay and disapproval in his question. She was rather used to such consternation over her “unbridled independence,” as the matrons of Bombay called it. She hoisted up the edge of her hem and set out across the stable yard.
“Hold on there,” Kipp called after her, and he quickly fell in step alongside her, his boots squishing in the muck. “You can’t wander about unescorted.”
“Oh good heavens!” Cordelia came to a stop and turned to face him. “I’ve traveled across India, around the Horn of Africa, and all the way to England.” She waved her free hand at the bucolic scene before them—the sturdy little inn and the neat row of shops beyond, green trees and even greener gardens leaving the vista soft and inviting. “I hardly think this village harbors a den of thieves waiting to pillage my pen and papers.”
She continued on, but to her chagrin, Kipp followed in her wake, his wagging admonishments chasing after her.
“It just isn’t done, Miss Padley,” he told her.
Not Cordie. Not even Cordelia. Or even that wretched Commander Whey-Face. She’d take any of those over this formal and stiff designation. Miss Padley, indeed!
“What if you were to get lost,” he pointed out.
Oh, that was the final straw. She whirled around. “However could that happen, my lord?” She notched her chin up a bit. “We’re standing on an island. Eventually I would come to an edge.”
